Rekindled

     You never know what the day's going to bring. A FaceBook friend request, accompanied by a message saying, "We have a shared past," led to an unopened envelope, an ugly cry and the first new blog post in eight years.
     When last I posted here, I had begun another phase in my teaching career...Pre-Kindergarten.  It is a wonderfully exhausting task, filled with fun, language, literature, emotion and purpose. But it consumed the energy I had formerly put into writing regularly. The desire to journal has been there all this time, but the fire that fuels the flow of creativity had been reduced to a few glowing embers. Yesterday's FaceBook message was the breeze that fanned those embers and eventually blew me right back to this desk where I had begun My Meandering Way.
     "I would be interested in speaking to you about your family's recollections of the event that happened in 1965." This woman had been searching the internet for information about her family history.  One of the links Google produced pointed her to my June 28, 2011 entry on this blog. She was referring to my Grandpa Major's murder conviction. At that time, I was researching my own family's history, and my mom had given me several large manila envelopes with photos and a few handwritten historical accounts. One of them was labeled Major (Shooting).  I never opened that envelope, thinking that was a story for a future post. I told the woman she'd do better by asking my mom since the event was before I was born, but when I asked mama if she would be willing to talk to the woman, she emphatically said no.  So I agreed to speak with her myself, we made a phone appointment, and the next morning I opened the envelope.

                                                                  

       Way back in my youth I had heard that Grandpa Major had come across a couple of fellows poaching on his land down in Wakulla County.  They got into an argument, the boys pulled their guns on Grandpa, and he shot them.  One died and the other was paralyzed.  When I opened the envelope, the truth spilled out.  That's exactly what happened.  My grandfather was nothing if not organized.  He saved all kinds of things, from newspapers to coffee cans, and wrote the date on every one.  Inside the Major (Shooting)  envelope was a date book which contained a stack of original newspaper clippings, each with the date attached.  They told the tale from the original news item in which Grandpa said exactly what I'd heard happened, the follow-up investigation, the charges filed, the lawsuits, the shady land deal, the trial, the conviction, the retrial, and the acquittal.  Yes, Grandpa Major was eventually acquitted, but not until after a whole lot of work on his part to expose some shifty dealings and non-partial prosecutorial staff. 

     There was a wealth of emotion in that envelope. I was proud of my grandfather for standing his ground, never altering his story, asking to appear before a Grand Jury, and petitioning then-Governor Askew to review conflicts of interest.  There was a character reference from Grandpa's application for private investigator license. (That made me chuckle.) And then there was the mail. Envelopes addressed to Major Langston c/o Crawfordville Jail. That's when the ugly cry happened.  Grandpa spent Valentines Day in the jail, so there were a handful of cards from the women's group of the church he (or most likely my grandmother) attended and my mom.  There were also letters from his daughter Anne and grandson John, telling him about school and how he wished he could see his grandfather.

     When it was time for the phone appointment, I was a mess.  I had cried for Grandpa Major, the time he lost locked up and defending himself, the defamation of his character, and the land he lost in the process. I had cried for my Grandma Margaret, my mama, Aunt Anne and cousin John who loved him so much and were there to witness the injustice of it all.  I've written about my grandfather in several previous posts.  He was one-of-a-kind...a dapper gentleman with a sharp sense of humor and an endless supply of whatever a stray animal needed.  That he'd had to endure this and put his family through it was heartbreaking. And Mama told me that Grandpa never got over causing the death of that young poacher and the permanent paralysis of the other. Their obituaries were also in that envelope.

     The phone rang as I made my way out into the field behind my house.  Cell service out here is only clear in a few spots. I answered, and a cheerful voice thanked me for taking the time to speak with her.  She was the niece of the survivor of the shooting in 1965, and was intrigued because, like me, she had been given the basic information surrounding the event and then no one talked about it anymore.  After reading the post that Google had originally directed her to, the woman had taken the time to read more about Major Langston.  She was surprised to see me describe him as a compassionate animal lover and all-around great guy.  Not surprisingly, her family had seen him as quite the opposite. That triggered another wave of tears for me, and I found myself standing knee-deep in wild pepper defending my grandfather like it was 1965.  I told her how he loved animals, and walking in the woods, and teaching the grandkids how to fish.  He was multi-talented, built the house he lived in as well as a swinging bridge or two down in Smith Creek.  He was always busy doing something like crafting things from wood, building animal habitats, tinkering with vehicles, and building models of machines he invented. How could anyone think that man was an evil killer?

     We talked a bit and conceded that there are two sides to every story and that the truth is usually somewhere in between.  She thanked me for sharing a bit of the real Major Langston, and I thanked her for caring enough to ask. We can't fix anything from the past, and won't likely be able to change either family's conception of the other, but we can start with us.  That concept can be applied to many facets of society today.

    After hanging up, I went to my desk and pulled up the blog I had wandered away from back in 2012.  I scrolled to the posts about Grandpa Major, thinking he'd look a little different to me now, post murder trial.  He didn't.  But I felt different. Emotional outbursts aren't common for me, and I felt the need to document this ...analyze it...write about it. My writing desk has now been reorganized, Compose Blog page is bookmarked, and my schedule is clear until August.  Ooooh...there's another post!

Aging Gracefully

     All my life I've been told that my people have good genes so we age well.  While this doesn't seem to apply to everybody in the family tree, most of our old folks are pretty well-pickled.  (I just love how Southern folks describe things!)  In fact, some of the most beautiful people I know are in their latter years.   Sure, they are wrinkly, but their eyes have a twinkle in them, their skin seems to glow from the inside and their smiles are omnipresent.  They are alive, mostly well and fairly happy well into their nineties.  

     I recently celebrated my 44th birthday.  First thing that morning, I received a message from a friend saying, "Happy birthday, old lady!  Don't ya hate how these things keep coming around?"  Well, no.  I actually look forward to these milestones.  I got to thinking on all this and the fact that I am likely about halfway through my expected life span and then a brief panic set in...there is so much I have left to do!   I've made some drastic changes in my lifestyle over the past couple of years in an effort to reduce stress and get healthier physically and emotionally.  In doing so, I've learned a number of lessons that might just get me to my centennial.

     1.  Every day that I wake up and all my moving parts work is a good one!  I woke up one morning and had an arm and mouth that just wouldn't cooperate due to a mild stroke.  I have been blessed with almost complete recovery and subsequently see so many small things that are not to be taken for granted.  I have so much to be grateful for...even on bad days.  It is sad to me that some people only say "Life is good" when things are going their way and they have everything they want in that particular moment. Look around and appreciate what you have in the way of health, family, friends, work and home.  We may not have the exact life we dreamed of or even planned for, but we are right where we belong and have many blessings to count when we stop and consider what a blessing is and how many are right in front of us.  Life is always good!  

     2.  I am solely responsible for me.  All my problems, successes, failures, debts and rewards have a common denominator...me.  No one but me has signed the checks, written the lesson plans, taken on challenges, eaten the brownies and walked away from stress-makers.  I determine who I allow to control my situations, how I manage my finances, how messy I allow my home to get and how hard I push myself to succeed in work and exercise.  No matter what excuse I manage to make for any of it, it all boils down to me and choices I make.  It has taken me a long time to be able to write this fact down because I had surrounded myself with excuses and had convinced myself that other people or factors in my life were determining the most basic aspects of success and happiness for me.  

     3.  Eat. Those gals who sit and watch others consume as they "save the calories" are usually miserable and lose the same five pounds over and over again.  I've had to get re-educated about food over the last five months and can easily determine good calories from bad.  I know I have to eat throughout the the day, consuming more protein than carbohydrates and avoid as much sugar as possible.  This keeps me from noshing on everything I see and my head is less foggy.  Hormones, exhaustion and temptation sometimes contribute to bad choices on my part, but I don't beat myself up over them.  Like Scarlet says, "tomorrow is another day."

     4.  Exercise and stay hydrated.  I choose to walk a couple miles a day and and do strength training as often as possible.  I currently have a serious ankle injury and am limited on the walking and must make the choice to substitute the strength training or bicycle.  No excuses...here is that responsibility thing again!   But I see that if I don't exercise, I get really moody.  And when I get even a little dehydrated I get loopy and lightheaded.  The stress relief of a long walk or a session on the Total Gym is amazing...and addictive!  Also, managing my weight and fitness now will greatly reduce my chances of another stroke in the future.  That alone is a powerful motivator.  

     5.  Speak up.  Stand up for yourself.  Nothing about a break-up or past job experience feels worse than reflecting on it later and thinking, "I wish I'd said something earlier" or, "I can't believe I put up with that for so long."  I'm not saying to complain about everything, but if you are being stifled, oppressed, put down or mistreated in any way, it is a lot better to deal with it in the present than regret inaction later.  I have been in an abusive relationship and have let an unfulfilled relationship go on far too long before I took action.  As adults, we are models for young people and when they see us tolerating injustice, they think that it is okay and may accept that in their own lives.  I have encountered some situations at work where I have had to make a case for what I felt was right.  It would have been easier to let it go rather than be labelled confrontational or a whiner, but some things just have to be taken on.  

     6.  Happiness cannot be bought, bartered for or given to us.  It is neither inherited nor will-able. It cannot be stalked, hunted down, trapped and held captive by anyone.  Happiness is generated inside of us.  It is the side-effect of a life well-lived.  A life well-lived is one full of compassion, selflessness, faith, generosity and kindness regardless of the trials and tribulations experienced throughout. In other words, it is not all about me.  In some ways it is not about me at all.  I can honestly say that I have experienced the most pure joy when I have contributed positively to the lives of others.  Milestones in the lives of my children and my preschool students have brought me to tears many times.  Recognizing greatness when I am in the company of amazing people is another heart-stopper for me.  I have been so blessed to work with or study under some incredible souls....and that includes Sunday School teachers!

     As I make my way toward another birthday, collecting a few more wrinkles and gray hairs, I find that I am doing okay. I am able to see and appreciate the many blessings in my life and make peace with the darker areas. I forgive myself for my imperfections, accepting those I can't change and seeing what I can do about the others. We get one lifetime on this planet and I don't intend to spend the remainder of mine searching fro something that I must generate within myself or trying to live by someone else's standards or expectations of me. I am not going to battle the outward appearance of years passed on my face, but rather live in such a way that I have that twinkle in my wizened eyes and inner glow that I see emanating from my elderly friends. I am aging gracefully...gratefully!

Moving Right Along...

     Everyone who knows me well knows that I plant roots wherever I land.  Deep roots that usually require a bush hog to remove.  When told I have to change something, especially concerning the routine or environment, I pitch a tantrum that would impress a two-year-old.  And I don't feel silly about it, either.  There is always justification for keeping things exactly like they are and have been forever.  I recently bought a new computer and wasted no time setting it up exactly like the one prior.  I hate change...it is highly overrated and is not necessary for progress.  Or is it?
     Exactly a year ago, my principal informed me that my position as art teacher had been eliminated and I was going to teach Pre-K....and I would have to relocate from my classroom.  I won't describe my reaction because it is a little embarrassing and time has proven that the change was the best thing to happen to me in fifteen years.  I have experienced so much personal growth and my love of teaching has been rekindled.  So when he came around last week and asked if I would teach second grade, you'd think I would be okay with that, right?  Wrong!  My face turned red and my skin prickled and I just about blew up.  However, rather than the tantrum that he probably expected, I politely appreciated his confidence in me and begged him to let me stay in Pre-K...and he did!
     That same day, I got a phone call from the office of the local migrant education center and was asked if I wanted to teach a Pre-K summer school class.  I had called them earlier in the month and was told summer positions were filled, so I took that as a sign from above that I was meant to have the summer off and focus on things at home.  I immediately made a list of tasks to accomplish such as household improvements and writing projects.  But now, that plan was jeopardized because I might be working.  Should I stick with my plan or, ahem, change it?  Of course I took the job...my daughter has got to have a vehicle.  So, the Summer To Do List is tucked into my calendar and maybe I will get to some of it.  Did ya notice?  No argument from me that time.  Hmmmmm...
     So this week I found out that I will have the three-year-old class for summer Pre-K.  No curriculum to guide me but an idea of what we should do everyday should be easy enough to manage.  And I have one of my old art students as an assistant.  I love that!  BUT, we had to move out of my classroom.  Y'all....my current classroom is my Holy Grail.  I have written about it before so will spare the details except to say that it is big, bright and cheerful.  The portable we are going into is the polar opposite.  But that is okay...I can handle anything for five weeks.  What?  Who said that?  Surely it wasn't me, the stoic Queen of Let's Keep Everything the Way It Is Now.
     I have a friend who thrives on change and has been pecking away at my inflexibility for years.  I still have a way to go, but am more often pleasantly surprised at myself when I accept something and move on as opposed to fight it or at least complain ad nauseum.  Time marches on and those of us who refuse to put our boots on will eventually be left behind.  This is a life lesson I am just starting to learn as I turn forty-four years old.  The past year has forced me to look change in the eye, pull up my boot straps and get to work.  Argument is a luxury I can no longer afford.

Mind Bump

     Some days I really feel the need to write, but then I can't think of anything to write about.  Yeah, there is always something going on at home or school that I could discuss at length, but I do that all the time.  And my writing books are full of creativity-building exercises, but I don't care to publish those.  So I went surfing on the web and found a website for blog post prompts. After clicking through several suggestions, I landed on one that said, "I dare you to write about the next prompt to come up."  Well.  It was a dare, so I clicked and got this:

"The top 5 things to rant about and end up with a blog post :)"

     Me...rant?  Are you kidding?  I can easily come up with five things to rant about: 

1.  FCAT Testing as a way to assess entire school districts, not just students.
2.  The ever-increasing price of groceries.  (What the devil are they making cereal out of that costs five bucks?)
3.  The ever-decreasing amout of parental accountability in my generation and the one following.
4.  Political campaigns that have become mudfights offering insults but no plans for positive change.
5.  Our country's current welfare system that has enabled yet another generation of check-happy people with no work ethic.

     See.  That was easy.  But I don't feel like writing about these things because that just gets me all riled up about stuff I cannot do much about and I've learned not to dwell on the negative.  So, I'm going to go wake up the kiddies and read them some Dr. Seuss.  That's bound to inspire something!

To My Class of 2025

Dear Class of 2025,

     As the school year draws to a close, I frequently find myself looking around our classroom with a lump in my throat.  The time has gone by so quickly and I am overwhelmed with emotion.  We have all grown so much over the past nine months, physically and developmentally, and I just want you to know that you have taught me as much as I have taught you...maybe more.  When we first met last August, I was as inexperienced as you were.  Yes, I had taught for 15 years, but I hadn't ever borne the responsibility of attending to all the needs of children while also getting them ready for a lifetime of learning.  Now, with only two weeks left in this school term, I am so pleased to be able to say I did it and you're ready!
     The first lesson you taught me was that it is not about me.  Not at all.  From the first day, I knew that it didn't matter what else I had going on in my life or how how little sleep I had gotten or how badly my knees hurt, your needs were my priority.  As soon as I hit the door of the cafeteria, you were all over me with hugs, requests and complaints.  All day long you were hungry, had to go potty, needed to tell me something, missed your mama, were mad, were sad, needed a hug, needed a tissue, didn't want to ride the bus, didn't want to stay for after school, wanted to stay for after school, wanted to play outside, wanted to play inside and wanted to go home.  This was a big adjustment for me.  I was used to having older kids come into my classroom with a known set of expectations for behavior and performance as well as a known consequence for non-compliance.  You all had no expectations and no accountability.  You were four years old and I was your first educational experience.  Twenty little egos were a huge reality check for me.
     Next, you taught me about compassion and generosity.  I've gone through life thinking I could relate to what others must be going through or understand how others live.  But, by watching and listening to what some of you have communicated about experiences you've had in your few years in this world, I realize that I've had blinders on.  I have projected my perceptions and experiences onto others and have misjudged them (and you) more often than I am comfortable admitting.   I'm working on that, but in the meantime I have been trying to give back some of the blessings that I have received by sharing with you.  When there were things lacking in our materials, I found them for you, whether I had to go to the administration, the Pre-K office, my very generous friends or my own wallet.  I spent far more than I was allowed to deduct on my taxes this year but it didn't matter because we needed it.  Along with that, I required you to share with each other.  Especially at breakfast!  I really hope that sense of generosity has become part of you and that you will continue to share with others throughout your lives.
     The greatest lesson that I have learned is that we can do anything we set our minds to.  Last August I was unsure of myself and my ability to actually teach something academic and manage a class of my own.  And then, when I met some of you who didn't yet speak English, I was completely intimidated.  But you taught me that as long as I showed up at school with a plan for the day and maintained a routine, we could get a lot accomplished.  And we did!  I am incredibly proud of you all.  You have learned letters, sounds, numbers, shapes, colors, songs, dances, sight words, how to write your name, how to write letters and numbers, how to play tether ball and that baby dolls don't go in the freezer.  But more importantly you've learned to share, take turns, ask for help, use a fork, walk in line (sort of) and listen when your teacher is talking.  Some of you have even learned to communicate in English!
     Next year I will have a new class that I will do all of these same things with, but you, my very first Pre-K class, will always hold a special place in my heart.  You've been great teachers for me:

     Alia, the first few weeks of school I would have sold you to the highest bidder!  You were incorrigible!  But I learned how to meet you half-way and so we both got what we wanted.  You taught me about fostering friendships as I taught you about making friends.  To have a friend you first need to know how to be one.  No le pueges a tus amigos!  I also learned that if I made you a box of your own art supplies you were less apt to stuff mine into your backpack! 

     Jamarion and Aaron, you guys taught me about need.  The need to be seen,  to be loved and to matter to someone every day.  I learned the true meaning of "food is love" and cannot count the cartons of milk and leftover snacks I snuck into your backpacks. When school started you two drove me nuts with your loud, bossy attitudes and I prayed that you would be absent a lot.  But over time I learned that these were all cries for attention and when I gave you the right kind of attention you gave back with academic and social success.  I am so proud of you both and pleased that you had the lowest absentee rates in the class!

     Omare, you taught me about patience and picking my battles.  I now understand that there is just no way some little boys can sit criss-cross-applesauce in a carpet square for more than 35 seconds.  They just can't.  So I had to learn to make an accommodation without letting all the others who were able to sit there think that your behavior was okay for them as well.  You are so incredibly bright and too cute for your own good and that made my task really challenging.  I trust that you will eventually be able to walk in line, but until then I am not going to worry about it. 

     Asly, this is just between you and me so you can't tell anyone, but you taught me about favoritism.  I have been fond of many students over the years and had a few teacher's pets, but you are my very first favorite student.  I know that probably doesn't sound fair, but I also know that it happens to even the most stoic of veteran teachers.  You came to class in August speaking very little English and were almost as incorrigible as Alia.  Now you have friends, share, know most of the letters and sounds as well as sight words and you don't talk to me in Spanish anymore.  Sometimes I cannot believe how much English you've learned in such a short time.  You follow me everywhere, imitate much of what I do and make me feel like the most awesome person in your world.  That's why you often found little treats in your backpack at the end of the day!  I am going to miss you, my little shadow.  Shhhhh.....

     Dyana and Ruby, you two sweet beautiful girls have taught me about how important it is to not put too much pressure on ourselves.  It is okay to give the occasional incorrect response or to not be chosen  to be a classroom helper.  It doesn't mean you aren't as good, it just means it wasn't your turn.  And that is okay. 

Jared, you taught me that some days we just need to let go and laugh.  I never met a happier kid than you!  Your ability to get excited about everything is amazing and I hope you never lose it.  You enthusiastically approach everything we do and even if you don't do things exactly how you envision (like cutting on the dotted line,) you don't get upset.  You have no idea how many times your "oh oh...it's okay" lifted my spirits on a rough day.

     To all of you, this has been a busy and challenging year, but we have persevered and made it to the finish line.  I am incredibly proud of each of you and grateful for the many ways you have helped me to be a better teacher and a better person.  I look forward to seeing you in the Fall with your new teachers...and you'd better come hug me in the cafeteria!

Sincerely and with love,

Miss Boykin

Drawing Lessons

     I am a visual-spatial person.  I think in images, make notes with drawings and diagrams and doodle all over everything from lesson plans to recipes.  I used to carry a sketchbook to meetings and workshops because I listened more attentively when I focused on a drawing.  This picture is from a sketchbook I had when Dr. Phil said one must confront one's fears before one can conquer them.  Clearly, I had issues with spiders and snakes so I set about drawing them.  No, it didn't cure me, but I did learn a lot about their anatomy which made them less mysterious and therefore slightly less intimidating.  Slightly.

     A couple of years ago I had a stroke which rendered my right hand useless for several days.  Dear friends stayed with me in the hospital and put my hair up and even plucked my eyebrows.  (Funny thing, vanity.) After a while I regained the use of my hand and life returned to normal.  However, I've lost some of the fine motor ability necessary for good (okay, legible) penmanship and drawing.  Gone are the days of detailed sketches.  I can still do the big gestural strokes for making banners, but can't even read my own handwriting.  Considering that my stroke could have been so much worse and having experienced a small taste of what losing a limb is about, I am not complaining. 

     I believe Marilyn Monroe is credited with saying that sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together.  That is exactly what has happened to me.  Drawing was a creative outlet for me and after I accepted that I wasn't going to be doing much of it anymore, I set about looking for other forms of expression.  I fell into an ancestry project which lead to blogging and that has made all the difference.  Through my writing exercises and blogging topics, I have been forced to confront things that have nagged at me for years.  The photos of ancestors and mom's stories about those mysterious relatives bear striking resemblances to people and situations in my own life, and that has gotten my brain working on a whole new level.  I can look at those photos as well as others and write my responses to the memories, emotions and ideas that they evoke.  I now have a stronger sense of who I am and what I want from this life for myself and my family.  And you know, since I have gotten to this place I find that I am so much less critical of others.  Who am I to assume I know what is going on with someone else when they probably haven't got a clue, either? 

     But still, there are memories and images that keep revisiting like they need some attention.  I like to think of them as old lessons waiting to be learned.  My mother gets extremely annoyed with me about this as she is a proponent of getting over it and moving on.  However, I secretly suspect that in her quiet moments she is doing the same thing I am...looking to put some things to rest.  Lately, I am visited by an image from when I was nine years old.  It was summer and my parents had been divorced about a year when a woman about mom's age moved into a house three doors down from us.  She bought the house that had a huge concrete patio and above-ground pool...and she had three daughters.  My friends Lara and Dot and I were so excited to have some new girls in the neighborhood.  We also looked forward to skating on that patio and swimming in that pool!  But (there's always a but,) my mom nixed our plans right away.  One of her closest friends worked with this woman and had heard all sorts of things about how horrible she was to her ex-husbands and how focused she was on finding the next one.  She shared all this with my mom as well as how her three girls were left unattended many nights so she could go to the bar up the road from us.  The same bar my dad dipped into regularly.  So we were forbidden to associate with the orphan ragamuffins and endured the seemingly endless horror of watching them play on that awesome skating rink of a patio that had so recently been close to becoming community property. 

     This memory would be poignant enough on its own.  It contains lessons about being judgemental and making assumptions.  But what happened next has made it monumental and continues to affect me today.  One afternoon, my brother and I were playing in the front yard when mom came outside and called us to the porch.  I'll never forget it.  She said quite simply, "Your dad married Miss Becky today."  I don't think there was any discussion about it.  It wasn't long before dad moved in down the street and we started to see him drive by with Miss Becky and the girls.  I have searched for words to describe that feeling but there just aren't any.  My daddy was driving by with a carload of kids I was not even allowed to play with. 

     Now, my mother is a wonderful human being and time has affected my memory.  But that image is burned into my mind so I know it happened.  I have been chewing on it quite a bit lately so have taken to task finding out why and learning the lesson.  The why is that the oldest girl, Michelle, is a couple of years older than me and has always been the one I was closest to.  She is currently in the process of fulfilling a lifelong dream and is very close to getting there.  I see her updates almost daily and carry her in prayer because it is an amazing project that she has worked very hard on.  The lessons are several.  While my mother and her friend were passing judgement on Becky and the girls, they did so based on things Becky herself admitted to.  Over the years I learned those things were true.  But, as awful as she may have been to the first two husbands, she treated my daddy like a king.  They are married to this day.  And those girls had structure.  They had chores and activities that kept them busy the whole time their mother was away.  Their house was spotless and they knew how to cook.  I got quite close to them all as we became a family and call them all sisters now even though Michelle is the only one I really talk to anymore. Before dad changed jobs and they moved to Kentucky, I spend many afternoons skating on that patio and got to swim a time or two.  Becky never called us "steps" or treated me or Pat any differently than her own children.  When we spent weekends or summer vacations with them, we all had chores and were all accountable if we dropped the ball.  We all got the same number of gifts for birthdays and Christmas and everyone's good report card was celebrated.  What's the lesson in that?  Don't judge a book by its cover?  Things aren't always what they seem?  Let go and let God? 

     As a mother, I've had to let my kids go visit with their dads and extended families.  I have sent them off for weeks at a time just like my mother had to do then.  That takes a boat load of faith.  That's having to let go and try to breathe in and out until they get back.  It's hard.  But at least I knew my kids had good step-parents.  Their other moms were/are good to my kids.  My mom had an awful image of Becky and to some extent my dad, but she had to let that go to let us go.  She learned in time that Becky was very good to us but those first few months must have been awful.  (On a side note, mom was rewarded in that she she met Jack, who is the best step-dad ever.  I refer to him as my dad...he was there for everything!)

     Another lesson, and maybe the bigger one, is that just because someone does a really crappy job in one aspect of their life, it doesn't mean they aren't successful in others.  We can go lots of places with that one.  I am terrible at managing money, but I can write up a grant proposal for hundreds of thousands of dollars and explain how to effectively use it.   Becky was terrible at maintaining working relationships with her exes, but she ran a household with 5 kids like clockwork while working full-time and getting her husband to quit drinking.  We all have our talents and weaknesses.

     I know that I will continue to be visited by images from my past and am so glad that I have learned what to do with them.  The memories may be painful at times, but their lessons are life-affirming and I am no longer afraid to confront them.  I can't really draw them anymore, but I can draw from them and pass them along.  That is what we are here for after all.  Learning life's lessons to help each other find our way.

Letting Go



     The other day I sent my son into the woods to be eaten by a bear.  Okay, not really, but the thought crossed my mind as he rode off on his bike.  I have seen a bear once in the three years we have lived at the farm, but when Sam rode off to Mr. Don's house "the back way" I couldn't help wondering if there wasn't a whole bear family living out there.  And then that set off my panic alarm and I had to go through the whole litany of reasons why I shouldn't be so worried: people are not the preferred food of bears, Sam's pretty swift on that dirt bike and when a bear gets a whiff of that sweaty boy he won't be hungry anymore.  It all made perfect sense to me but I still heaved a sigh of relief when I saw him headed back across the big field later.

     Am I always this uptight?  Pretty much.  I have fought the faith vs. fear battle most of my adult life...and more so since I had children.  When Sara was younger we travelled quite a bit and were always on the go and I worried that she'd get lost, we'd have an accident or her father would steal her from me.  With Sam I worry more about snakes, bears, falls from rooftops and accidents involving ropes and tools in trees.  He and I were picking berries earlier this week and I was hardly able to pick anything because I had to keep surveying the area around him for snakes.  Yes, snakes loves berries, but they also dislike people and believe me, you can hear Sammy coming...he likes to narrate all activities. 

     There comes a time when we parents have to loosen the reins and let our children lead...a little bit.  I have a hard time with that.  It's not that I am a control freak and want to be in charge of my world, but more that I haven't been able to let myself have confidence in my children's decision making abilities.  They see me making choices all the time.  Surely they have learned something about it.  So why am I so hesitant to let them out of the nest?  Sara is now seventeen and has a job and is responsible for much of the care of seven horses.  She does a great job managing all of that as well as staying on top of her school work and making good grades but I still catch myself asking, "do you have your lunch?" and "do you have your homework?" and "are you sure you can find that place by yourself?"  Most of the time she replies with that look that says, "duh, mom" and as grating as that is, I kind of don't blame her.  Still, I silently pray for her safety every time she drives away and whisper thanks when I hear her return.  While I know she is smart, has a good moral foundation and is a better driver than me, I am absolutely terrified of sending her off to college next Fall.  How can I trust that baby of mine to make the best decisions for herself?  There it is again...faith and fear at odds. 

     When Sam asked if he could take the rent check over to Mr. Don's, I had no doubt he could manage the task, but as I watched him pedal across the field to the wooded trail I thought I must have lost my mind.  He's only seven for crying out loud!  I realized that this is just the first of many times I am going to have to let him go but I also know from experience that it probably won't get too much easier. 

Comfort Zones

     I really need to get out more.  I have become quite a homebody over the past few years and had almost forgotten how much I enjoy getting away and exploring new places.  This past weekend I travelled to Atlanta to meet an old friend...for the first time.  We've been online friends for almost fourteen years and he decided it was high time for us to get together in person and made arrangements to do so.   The day finally came and I headed out to the big city, hitting Atlanta just in time for the five o'clock traffic jam.  I was so filled with nervous excitement that I kept missing turn lanes and attempted to go down one-way streets the wrong way more than once.  I must have circled the hotel four times trying to get turned in the right direction!
     Finally, I arrived at the Four Seasons Atlanta.  I drive a 2000 Honda CRV.  It was originally silver but now is more of a brushed pewter with a few dings and I have never been accused of keeping it too clean.  It stuck out like a sore thumb as I wheeled in between a gorgeous shiny black BMW sedan and a sleek black Lincoln Town Car.   The valet had me park behind an impressive black Lexus SUV.  (For the record, when I make my fortune I am buying a white Mercedes convertible.  All this black is far too serious for me.)  The valet motioned for me to roll the window down but my driver's side window motor is not working so I had to open the door...and it hit the man.  Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough for me to turn bright red and want to crawl under the vehicle.  After establishing that I was staying at the hotel and getting my car checked in, the valet motioned for me to follow my luggage into the lobby where I could wait for my friend.  I did that, but only after asking him what he was going to do with my keys.  God love him, this guy was professional and explained the procedure to me, but the country-come-to-town-in-a-hooptie vibe was coming off him in waves!
     I have visited the Colosseum in Athens and the Library at Ephesus and had year-round passes to Biltmore Estate, but never have I been intimidated by a building like I was by the Four Seasons hotel.  It isn't just beautiful.  It is grand.  It is ritzy.  It is downright uppity.  And it was way outside of my comfort zone.  I was still a bit embarrassed by my parking fiasco when the attendant who had brought in my luggage invited me to have a seat until my friend arrived.  I parked myself in the nearest available seat.  It happened to be a beautiful Queen Anne side chair with bright white upholstery that was directly under a spotlight.  So much for disappearing into the background!  I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat staring at the door about to explode from anxiety so I texted my daughter and my friend Libby to let them know I'd arrived safely.  The hotel staff are amazingly attentive so it wasn't long before I heard, "Ms. Boykin, perhaps you'd be more comfortable over there on one of our sofas.  I'll bring you something to drink."  I swear that man saved my life.  I was about to have a heart attack and my hair was getting hot!
     The sofa was a much better place for me.  I was still able to watch the door but didn't feel like I was onstage.  My heart was pounding so hard that I felt sure the lady with the infant opposite me could hear it.  For the first time in many years I was not at all self-conscious about my appearance.  I'd been on my self-improvement plan for about six weeks and was getting in shape and looked and felt great physically.  So what was all the anxiety about?  I had a fourteen year history with the friend I was about to meet so that wasn't it.  At least not all of it.  Why was I feeling so inadequate? 
     Before I was able to ponder that too much my friend arrived.   He looked exactly like his pictures and I leapt into a great big smiling bear hug.  I forgot about my inadequacy and jumped right into the Oh-My-God-He's-A-Real-Person-And-He's-Really-Here internal freak out.   We laugh about it now, but I was ridiculously nervous.  Thank God and Veuve Clicquot that only lasted about an hour.  He turned out to be exactly the person who I had come to know and I was unbelievably comfortable in his presence for the entire weekend.  That is new for me.  I am usually extremely uncomfortable around new people...especially men. 
     The weekend flew by as we visited most of Midtown, enjoying the amazing Atlanta Aquarium for an entire afternoon.  The whale sharks are mesmerizing and I am now madly in love with a giant manta ray.  We packed up our rooms on Sunday and headed down to check out.  I was feeling a bit emotional at the thought of saying goodbye to my friend and leaving the splendor of the hotel and forgot to press the Lobby button on the elevator.  We found ourselves headed up and the elevator stopped at the Penthouse floor.  The door opened and a beautiful woman and a male companion got in with us.  When we arrived back at the Lobby, my friend and I exited first and the other couple followed, going the opposite direction down the hallway.  My friend leaned over and said, "Do you know who that woman was?"  I said that I thought she looked familiar but couldn't tell as she was wearing sunglasses.  He said, "I'm pretty sure that was Meg Ryan."  That was it...it was her...she has that distinctive mouth.  Her companion turned out to be John Mellencamp.  Cool. 
     We had a few hours to kill, so we visited a couple of shops and then went to Piedmont Park to walk and talk awhile.  We ambled over to an outdoor restaurant and ordered a couple of drinks.  It was Sunday in the South but I was outside of the little box I had gotten accustomed to living in and just went with it.  While enjoying a Bloody Mary in the warm sunshine, I told my friend that I had gotten over feeling unworthy of staying in a four-star hotel and plan to do it again sooner rather than later.  Those hotels aren't just for celebrities anymore!  He is in the coaching, motivation, be-all-you-can-be business so I am used to getting my attitude adjusted and being urged to change my perspective.  However, I was not prepared for what he said next.  "What is the difference between you and Meg Ryan?"  Um, hello?  Did you freaking see her?  But he wasn't kidding.  I didn't have an answer so he told me.  The only difference between me and Meg was that she had recognized and developed her talent early and put it out there.  I could do that now.  Many people have told me that there is a book in me.  I know there is.  But I have allowed myself to buy into the idea that I am not good enough, smart enough or talented enough to actually write it.  I have gotten really comfortable with mediocrity. 
     I dropped my friend at the airport and cried all the way to Columbus.  Yes, I was going to miss him, but I was also overwhelmed with the need to purge a lot of my old self.  My self-doubt and sense of inadequacy have got to go.  God puts us on the planet for a reason other than to simply exist.  I have to find my purpose and live in such a way as to fulfill it.  I have to let go of what I perceive to be the expectations of others.  Why should I be so concerned with how I think others see me?  It is time to start believing in my own dreams.  So I put it out there.  I have told the universe what I need and what I want and fully expect to get it.  Now I am working to meet it half-way.  Like he said, "Life begins at the end of one's comfort zone."
    

Following Through

          Although I have been an educator for over 15 years now, my children continue to be better teachers than I am.  Sam taught me the greatest lesson last week without even knowing it.  He was spending the night with my mom since he did not have school the next day but it was a planning day for me.  He called late in the evening as I was gathering some things together for a training in the morning followed by a faculty luncheon.  Since Grandma watched "all the boring shows" on television, Sam was requesting that I gather up some DVDs and take them to him in the morning.  I told him that I would and went through the motions of gathering the videos up and setting my car keys on top of them so I wouldn't forget.
    The next morning I was very rushed and hurrying to get things in the car because I had to go all the way out to school to deliver the cakes for the luncheon and then get back to town in time for my training.  I was barely going to make it in time.  I despise being late for work.   I can keep my friends waiting around for me to show up for things and will slide in to a doctor appointment 5 minutes tardy, but I will not be late for work.  I reached for my car keys and there were those DVDs.  Oh, no.  I didn't have time to go by my mom's house in town before heading to school.  I would definitely be late for my training.   Surely Sam would get over it.  Mom probably had things planned for him to do anyway.  He's getting good at yardwork.    
     Then I thought about a friend of mine who lives in one country and has children in another.  I had just spoken with him the night before and he was in his hometown to see his kids and couldn't wait until they were out of school the next day so he get them.  I thought to myself that he had crossed an ocean to be there when his kids got out of school, so what was my problem?  I only had to drive 8 minutes to my mom's house to deliver some videos.  So I grabbed the stack of DVDs, broke the speed limit in a couple of neighborhoods and I turned onto my mom's street in record time. 
     As soon as mom's house came into view I saw my Sammy.  That little boy had gotten up before 7:30 on a no-school day and was waiting on mom's front porch for his mama to bring some videos.  The instant he saw me he started jumping up and down.  "You remembered!  I knew you'd bring 'em!"  I let him hug and kiss me and thank me profusely before I backed out of the driveway.  I told him I was late for work, but I really just didn't want him to see me cry.

     When I saw the excitement on Sam's face as he realized his mom followed through with the promise of video delivery, I had a flashback to the days when my little brother and I would sit on the front porch steps of our house and wait for our dad to pick us up.   Our parents divorced when we were quite young and since my dad had only moved across town he would pick us up to visit.  Sometimes.  Sometimes he didn't show up.  As I grew older, I learned to not wait very long.  But I remember Patrick sitting on the porch waiting for what felt like hours.  In his little heart he knew his daddy was coming to get him and he was going to sit there and wait.  I could not ever do that to my little boy.  I could not allow him to learn that he couldn't depend on me for something.  By the time I was in high school, I knew my daddy would not always be there for me.  I couldn't even count on him to remember my birthday.
     In the hustle and bustle of my single parenthood, I have gotten tunnel vision.  Most times I look ahead toward what the next project is, the next payment that is due, the next evaluation at school.  I see piles of laundry and dishes and jam orders.  I see the grocery list and a past due notice about getting the oil changed.  But I don't always see myself, especially as my children see me.  They should never ever see that they are not at the top of my priority list.  They should never learn that they can't count on me.   Yes, Sam would have eventually gotten over not having DVDs at Grandma's, but he probably would not have forgotten it.   He would have remembered that getting to work on time was more important than what he needed.  He might have gotten the idea that maybe he wasn't as important to mama as he should be.  

     I cried for five miles, broke the speed limit a few more times and clocked in at school at 8:01am.  That didn't matter, though.  I would have been an hour late if I needed to after seeing Sammy that morning.  Sometimes, the greatest lessons take the longest time to learn. 

    

Doctors, Diaries and Other D Words

     I usually know what I am doing.  I think I do, anyway.  At least that is what I tell myself.  So it stopped me in my tracks to have the mirror help up for me last month.  I didn't like what I saw.  And I am so glad it happened! 
      After standing in my kitchen the entire holiday break, my knees were an aching mess by January so I went to the orthopedist.  He didn't hesitate to tell me that I have the knees of a sixty-year-old woman and if I don't do something now, I will be having a knee replacement by fifty.  What he meant by "do something" was to lose some weight and keep it off.  Forever.  Well.  I have been chubby ever since third grade when puberty started creeping in.  Since then I have lost and gained and lost and gained depending on circumstances and motivators for change.  But this was serious.  Major catalyst for change.  The doctor sent me to see a "nutritionist" who he swore would get the job done.  She means business.  And was he ever right!
     I went to my appointment with Dr. Cain and her nurse did all the preliminary screenings and measurements to determine just how overweight I am.  I am pleased to report that I am not nearly as fat as I imagine myself to be.  So when I finally met Dr.Cain she asked what I was doing there.  I told her that I need to lose some weight and keep it off forever and if I don't Dr. Thornberry is going to make me get new knees.  Also, I don't have time for calorie-counting, diets don't work for me because I work full-time and then have side business and kids to tend to and my day is already just so full and yadda yadda yadda.  She sat there with her intense blue eyes focused right on mine.  When I was done with my spiel, she asked, "Are you going to do something?"  Well....yes, of course.  I am going to really try this time.  "No, Holle, are you going to do something?  I didn't ask you to try.  If you aren't going to commit to doing this, you are wasting my time."  Damn. "You have been talking for three minutes and all I have heard are excuses.  If this is what is working for you, then I am going to go help someone who wants it."  Damn.  I was busted.  The Fat Doctor called me out!  She saw right through me and held the mirror up for me to see through me, too.   I do not like change.  I am content with the status quo unless something pushes me into action.  I have some lazy tendencies and can be very stubborn...especially when someone purports to make me do something I do not want to do. Like diet.  I told her I am not going to diet.  I will be glad to eat healthier because I like fruits and veggies and all that, but I am not going to measure and weigh food nor am I going to count calories and make lists of everything I eat in a day.  I just will not.  She can't make me.  So she sent me in to see the dietitian. 
      Dr. Cain introduced me to Katie as "Holle, The Queen of Excuses."  Damn.  Those two were in cahoots.  "Holle is not going to diet or count calories.  But she is committed to change."  I felt her wink as she turned to leave.  Katie proceeded to tell me The Plan for the change I was about to undergo.  We talked about carbs, proteins and exercise and not once did she utter that four-letter D word that I was not going to do.  She put me on 1,100 calories per day, a minimum of one hour of exercise per day and gave me a binder to keep a food diary.  She didn't tell me what I could and couldn't eat but to keep it around 35 carbs per meal and make sure to write it all down so we can see what works.  Uh huh.  A damn diet diary!   Then they sent me home.  On the way out I had to stop and make an appointment for the re-check...to monitor my progress.  I thought that was a great idea...I need a weekly check-in to keep me on track.  The next available appointment was six weeks away.  "Are you serious?  Y'all are going to put me, The Queen of Excuses, on The Plan and then just trust me with it for six weeks?  Really?"  There was that mirror again.  They trusted me.  I made a commitment. 
     I went home via Publix, where I found myself using a Food Guide and reading Nutrition Facts on packaging to make good choices for breakfast and school lunches and family meals that worked for my plan and that the kids would eat.  That was tough but I did it.  My daughter was unaffected as she is a healthy eater anyway, but my meat-and-potatoes son lost his mind.  "You mean I have to eat vegetables?  I'm gonna starve, mama!"  He's hasn't starved but I thought I would during those first three days.  Breaking the sugar habit was no fun at all, but I did it in less than a week.  I started walking down to my mailbox everyday, too.  It's a quarter mile down hill from my house and a good walk for me and the pups.  I also join my daughter and a friend to walk at the track in town at least three days a week and dusted off the Total Gym.  I love my Total Gym!  I got a bit overzealous with it last Spring and hurt myself and never went back, but I am back now...every day. 
     Since starting on The Plan,  I usually consume less than 1,000 calories per day.  Yes, I am counting calories and eating calories that count...there's an app for that!  And yes, I write them all down.  The Fat Doctor and her dietitian cohort are going to be some kind of proud of me.  I am quite proud of myself, too.  This is Day 25 and I have lost 12 pounds, gone down a pants size and lost almost two inches off my waist.  A plan never worked for me in the past because I really didn't know what I was doing.  But since I shut up and started listening and learning, I am succeeding.   Now when I pass a mirror, I stop and look.  And I like what I see!  

Summation

     I have become one of those people who put their coffee in the microwave.  A year ago, I never would have dreamed of doing such a thing since finishing a cup was never an issue.  I made time to enjoy a cuppa joe.  My fondest memories from my trip to Greece involve relaxing with coffee. One memorable cup was enjoyed from a hotel balcony with a view of the Parthenon and later I discovered The Best Cup of Coffee Ever on the island of Patmos.  But lately it seems I have Coffee ADD.  I get so distracted that it is not uncommon for the coffee maker to Auto-Off before I finish my first cup.  My teaching job took a turn for the busier so I have to try to have a cup in the morning, but it is usually cold by the time I get half-way through it.  Then Miss B's In a Jam took off and soared, leaving me in a whirlwind of work, continuing to teach during the day and cook away the night.  I have always been an 8-hour sleeper but have since adjusted to functioning on five and  have even been too busy to be grouchy about that.  In fact, I have had so much going on that I didn't even realize today was the last day of the 2011.
     This has been an incredible year for me because it marked the return of my creative outlet.  I know that sounds weird coming from an art teacher, but art in school had become terribly boring due to lack of program funding.  But a silly little FaceBook project lead to a change in focus and ultimately a change in attitude for me.  In February, I took on the 30-day Photo Challenge in which I was given a daily prompt for a photo in my own collection.  Not one for boring captions, I found myself writing a lot about my photos and found myself dreading Day 30.  When the project ended I really missed writing every day.  I am not good at just writing off the top of my head.  I require inspiration.  I draw the same way, needing photos or physical items to see and illustrate.  After discussing this with my mother, she offered to help me dig out old family photographs so I could write stories about them and preserve the family history for later generations.  My best friend chimed in an offered to share her Ancestry.com account so that I could do the family tree as well.  And with that an obsession was born.  I have connected with family members near and far and gotten photos of relatives I would never have gotten otherwise.
      I began writing my blog again as I found old photographs and learned about the ancestors pictured in them.  Here, I can share the photos and stories with my cousins and others.  In the process of digging through photographs, I also began digging through personal issues that had been stored away for many years.  By writing about these things, I have been forced to deal with the problems I had with my father and Sara's father and purge the emotions associated with them and that has been incredibly liberating for my spirit.  I have surprised myself and a few others with some of the things that have shown up these pages and gained confidence in expressing myself without feeling the need to tiptoe around Mama's feelings or whatever expectations Southern folks have about ladies needing to be seen and not heard.  Lately, if it comes up, it's coming out!
     While writing my way through the summer, my focus shifted to the huge change in my job which has put me in a Pre-K classroom after fifteen years of art.  I have thrived with the four-year-olds and I love my job again!  I get exasperated with modelling good behaviors and redirecting bad ones, but at mid-year I can see that they have learned so much and made lots of developmental progress.  I am proud of myself as well as the kids.  That is a good feeling that was long overdue.
     As late fall arrived, I was settled into the Pre-K groove and began to cook again.  I love making jam and apple butter and that naturally lead to the birth of Miss B's In a Jam.  Miss B's has only been an enterprise for a month, but what a month it has been.  I was blessedly overwhelmed with orders and frequently in tears from exhaustion, but I got over 275 jars made and delivered in time for Christmas.  Throughout the holiday break I have cooked a batch of something almost every day.  I still love it!  That makes me happy because I don't want my hobby to become a job and feel like a task that has to be done.  Right now, Miss B's is restocking the pantry and getting set to go to the Rattlesnake Roundup next month  in Whigham, Georgia.  I am looking forward to seeing what a road trip will bring.
     At the beginning of this year, I was depressed about a relationship that was no longer fulfilling and bored out of my mind at work and home.  I was asking myself,  "Is this really all there is?"  But here at the tail end of the same year, I feel like a different person.  I am inspired by the strength and determination of my ancestors, productive in my job, expressing my creativity in writing and in the kitchen and at peace in my heart having exorcised some emotional demons.  I am busier than I have ever been but am not complaining about much other than how messy the house has gotten.  I could stand for life to go on like this for a while.  Who needs eight hours a night anyway?  I've got lots of coffee.  And a microwave.

Desperate Measures

     I've been broke quite a few times in my life.  That first year after college was grueling as I worked several jobs at once to keep a roof over my head and the car on the road.  It is far too expensive for single folks to live in this country!  I sold aluminum cans for gas money and shared a bowl of mac-n-cheese with my Basset Hound for dinner more than once.  I am not scared of sacrifice or hard work.  I have a good job and while it doesn't pay very well, it does pay for all the needs and some of the wants.  Until this spring, I had a couple of little side jobs doing grant writing and tutoring and that income was the fun money that got us to the movies or the semi-annual haircut.  Without that extra little bit coming in and combined with the current state of economic recession I have been strapped like I haven't experienced since I got my teaching job. A couple of weeks ago I cleaned a friend's kitchen to get groceries for school lunches.  So Christmas for my kids looked bleak to the point that I was about to call it off.  And then I made some toast.

     I began making jelly, jam and apple butter last fall.  I always buy fresh strawberries from a local youth group and freeze them for shortcake topping and fruit smoothies.  But last year I made my first batch of strawberry jam and was so impressed that I tried other things. Throughout the year I have made lots of preserves like mixed fruit jellies, apple butter, salsa and now marmalade.  Just for fun, I entered a few jars in the home agriculture show at the fair and was surprised to have won three first-place ribbons!

     For the past year I have been giving my jars of tasty treats to friends and family just because I can (pun intended.) I love to share and admit that it feels great to be complimented on my culinary skills.  Everything about the jamming process makes me happy, from washing and slicing fresh apples to the ruby red glow of strawberries poured into a hot jar.  And the way my house smells when I make apple butter makes it feel like fall all year.  It is a creative outlet that is literally a feast for all the senses.
     As I sat there last Monday morning, staring glumly at my toast, I opened a fresh jar of my own apple butter.  It has always been one of my favorites, a comfort food you might call it.  I spread it around, admiring its consistency and noting that I had gotten the right balance of spices and brown sugar.  It was pretty, too.  Why, it was actually better than what I used to buy at the supermarket.  Someone should buy it from me.  No, really....someone should buy it from me!  And right there in my kitchen at that moment my hobby turned into a small business.  I was in a jam and had plenty of it to sell, too.  "Miss B's In a Jam" debuted on FaceBook that night and the next day I had orders.

      Being broke serves as a catalyst for change for me because it is the one thing that truly sends me into a depression.  I feel absolutely worthless in every way when I don't have money.  I can't sleep, my blood pressure goes up and I yell more than usual.  And this time it happened right before the holidays.  Something had to give.  My kids hear "no, we can't afford that" all year long so I like to surprise them with something good at Christmas.  I know that material things are not the point of Christmas, but it is tradition and Lord knows I am all about that.  My kids will have something good from Santa and I had to figure out a way to make it happen.
    As I sit here today there are 14 orders waiting to be filled by Monday.  I will be cooking every night this week to fill them and get ahead for orders yet to come in.  I have a wonderful support system that never fails to jump in and help when I call.  My friends have helped to market "Miss B's In a Jam," find places to sell it and design and produce its packaging and my mom is the best juicer ever.  I think this little business will be around for a while and I am so glad of it.  Once again, God has allowed me to survive yet another season.  I wonder what I will preserve from it.

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     I have never been so tired in my life.  I just thought I was tired during all the preparation before school started.  The first week of school sort of freaked me out, but we got settled as we all got to know each other.  Then the personalities started coming out.  And the reading curriculum kicked in.  And I had to generate my own lesson plans that are more specific than anything I have ever had to produce before.  And my Pre-K resource teacher (aka Supervisor) starting dropping in for "observation."  I have started getting to school a half-hour earlier to set up my books and CDs and other lesson resources because as soon as I pick the little darlings up from breakfast I am on task until they are down for nap.  I don't stop talking, walking, snapping, physically and verbally redirecting, high-fiving, smiling, frowning, playing, counting, writing, saying yes, saying no, saying no again, hugging, saying stop, pointing, opening milk cartons, yelling stop, opening juice cartons, screaming stop and silently asking God to deliver me for six and a half hours straight.  And other than Circle Time and Story Time I do not sit down.  You should see my ankles and knees.  They are retaining more water than Lake Okeechobee.

    I will acknowledge right now that I realize I should not be complaining.  Millions of people work harder than I do for more hours per day for less money.  But this is my blog and I reserve the right to whine as I work through my paradigm shift in the midst of physical and mental exhaustion.  I also realize that these are four-year-olds and I should not expect them to have "gotten it" in six short weeks.  

     My tireless cheerleaders and generous donors have kept me going and added new dimensions for Center Time.  This week a friend donated a couple of Bratz styling heads for the girls to do in lieu of the ever-popular Dramatic Play center.  I expected Asly and Alia to be all over them so I was surprised when cousins Jamarion and Aaron laid claim to them.  Those boys did some hair!

     The girls simply cannot be distracted from the fancy dresses and babies.  They are such a hoot!  I allow boys in the kitchen and baby area frequently and my little girls now give them the devil about how babies do not go in the refrigerator!  They drive me up a wall at times, but when they get all dressed up and are clearly having a ball it is hard to get upset with them.

     This is what makes me crazy.  The boys.  There are fourteen of them.  And they all seem to think the Circle Time rug is a football field.  I know.  It doesn't look like a circle so why should they have Circle Time on a square?  It does look more like a football field.  Or even a wrestling ring.  I cannot help that....this is the rug They sent to me.  We have to sit in our square (or quadrado if you please) and participate in direct reading instruction for ten minutes before we do something else.  It's a Rule.  I make it as pleasant as possible.

    This morning my supervisor came in to do some individual student testing.  She was able to observe the rest of the activities going on while doing so...she is an incredibly organized and professional woman who Does Not Play.  I proceeded through the morning and lunchtime as always and then to the playground where she followed the class to observe some more.  I was sweating bullets by then.  She went with us through the hallway for potty time and then back to class for toothbrush time and nap time.  (We have lots of times in our short daily schedule.)  She then helped with a couple of my more stubborn fellows as they could not seem to settle down and nap, finally putting one in my office and one in the storage room, standing between both areas and watching like the hawk checking out our chickens.  While standing there she told me that I have a very bright and challenging group.  She praised what I have been doing so far and offered really helpful suggestions for changes I can make to ease some of the stress.

     I have not ever been trained to teach primary students nor did I get to intern or even observe before I was given a class and a set of expectations.  I have a curriculum, a lesson plan template, a classroom full of manipulatives and centers, a stack of assessments and twenty kids who need to learn how to function in and as a group.  I have three pages of items my principal will need to check off when I get my Big Fat Annual Evaluation.  (They ought to rename that assessment tool "Reasons We Should Continue to Pay This Person.")  And I have a whole book of things my Pre-K supervisor will be looking for in me and my classroom as well as my students each month.  Each month. Yikes.  Is it any wonder I feel stressed and am doing homework every night so I can teach four-year-olds?

     Anyway, it felt good to receive positive feedback after several weeks of feeling like I am not getting anywhere.  I am someone who appreciates criticism when it is constructive.  I listened to everything the lady said to me today and it was all positive. She applauded my efforts and the hard work of my paraprofessional, who, by the way, is a gift from God and a testament to good up-bringing.  She works her fanny off.  Tomorrow we will implement some of the things we learned and observed today and expect positive change.  But tonight I am going to do my homework and hit the hay early.  La maestra es pooped!

Major on Trial

     It all started over a sack full of squirrels.  That is all I knew about why my grandfather was tried and convicted of murder.  My mother recently presented to me an envelope containing all of my grandmother's notes and clippings about the matter.  I have glanced at the headlines and stashed the whole file away for a time when I am rested and have time to dive in head first with no regard for curriculum mapping or lesson planning or formal assessments.  Lately, my leisure reading materials have been replaced by instructional strategy guides and assessment manuals as I settle in to my new teaching position.  Major's story deserves all my attention so that when I retell it I get it right.

     In the meanwhile, I have been thinking about the many facets of my Grandpa Major.  I remember his chuckle.  I don't remember what he chuckled at, but he sure did get a kick out of a lot of things.  This made Grandma Margaret mad most of the time...maybe that is what he thought was funny.  I love this photo of them because they are both smiling at the same time.  Major was a happy man.  One who never met a stranger and could always find something for a stray animal to eat.  One of the two times I ever saw him cry was when one of his baby chicks had an unfortunate encounter with an electric fan.  He loved to observe animals.  I remember being about seven years old when he had a couple of opossums in a trashcan in the garage.  He had attached a broom handle across the top of the can and when I saw them the critters were hanging from it by their tails.

      Grandpa hunted, but not really for sport.  I have heard the tales of the alligator and black bear kills, but those were nuisance animals that had to be exterminated.  Major wasn't one for hanging heads on a wall.  I first saw this bear picture when I was in college and I was surprised because I knew how much he loved animals.  He had been hunting in Smith Creek that day in 1962 with Mr. Wise, of the Wise potato chip company.  I detect a bit of pride in his handsome face, so the exterminator story may prove to be bogus.

     This is my grandpa with a hired hand back in 1948.  They killed this gator down in Smith Creek.  My mother actually remembers when this photo was taken even though she was only three years old.  She said that Major wanted her to get in the picture, too, but she was terrified of the massive lizard.  There didn't seem to be a shortage of guns or big scary critters in Smith Creek so it is no wonder my mother grew to be such a stoic, unshakable woman.

     Here is my uncle Pat with grandpa and that gator.  (My mama was on that truck in the background.) Pat was five years old and had his own little gun.  And would you check out the ax in that lizard's mouth.  They didn't have child-proof latches back then.  The kids were taught that stupid hurts and that you don't go around bothering things that don't belong to you.  My grandparents were strict and taught responsibility and so their children learned to respect authority... and rifles.  My own son's BB gun is on the top shelf in my closet...I am not half the teacher Major was.

     While Grandpa Major was quite the sportsman, he had a creative side as well.  My grandmother was a seamstress, and I am not sure if he had a genuine interest in sewing or if he wanted to show Margaret up, but he made a beautiful dress for my mother.  It was blue velvet with an ivory satin collar.  He also made a white wool cape for my mom and this photo shows her wearing it with the dress in 1950.
     In addition to occasional tailoring, Major was a barber, a ship builder and a security guard for several government agencies in his latter years.  He knew everyone and was related to the rest.  I am looking forward to a weekend not too far down the road in which I can settle into the details of his indictment and trials.  Life in Smith Creek was hard, the people were poor and there was lots of shooting and killing of the local wildlife.  But when I focus on all the things I remember about my grandpa, I find it hard to believe he could be a cold-blooded killer...especially over a few squirrels.